


A cold heart's weakness

by BanBeloMeki



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bisexuality, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dancing and Singing, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings, Feral Behavior, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Freljord, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Ionia - Freeform, Loss, Love, M/M, Maternal Instinct, Maternal love, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Moving On, Multi, Personal Growth, Polyamory, Rage, Redemption, Repressed Memories, Singing, Trauma, Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, Vastaya, iceborn, losing their shit, mixed blood, pit fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanBeloMeki/pseuds/BanBeloMeki
Summary: Once a Winter's Claw raider, then an icesmith, then a mother and then a slave Atria Coldheart tries to stay away from violence. She's seen enough of it yet she finds herself between the audience of every pit fight in the city. She was always a quiet expectator until one day she gets picked for a fight. What will she do? Her ice... She didn't need it. It was just a friendly fight, right?
Relationships: Sett/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is my first time writing in here. In this chapter there is no Sett, but he's coming. We'll have big boi very soon! Hope you enjoy the read!

—Are you going to the pit tonight? I heard there are some good fights planned —Assai asked, leaning forward. 

—Maybe —Atria shrugged and took a sip of the tea. It tasted like nothing to her. She missed freljordian ale—. Depends on how much work there is at the smithy.

—Ah. It’s true. You had told me you were helping Yisus… What a shame… I really wanted to go with you.

It was more than obvious that Assai was after her. Everybody knew. Atria found him boring and vain, flavourless like the tea she was drinking. She wanted to tell him she was not interested in his advances but she owed him too much. It had been him who helped her out of the waters that terrible night. That gesture was worth more than a lifetime to her.  
Atria pursed her lips and put the cup back on its plate. It looked tiny in her hands.

—I guess Yisus would let me go if you come by —she mumbled.

—Ooh, that’s great! I’ll be there around sundown —he announced as he got up—. Gotta get to work!

—See you later then —she answered reluctantly after he kissed her on the cheek.

Atria saw him leave the tea shop and get lost into the crowd. She covered her face and sighed deeply. She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to see people hurt each other anymore yet Atria was certain she would be there, in the back rows, observing the fight intensely, thinking what she would do in their place, knowing she could kill any of those warriors with one drop of her magic.

She hit her knees with the rim when she turned to get up. The cups and dishes rattled loudly, attracting all the looks.

—Sorry —she mouthed to the other customers, bowing as she had been taught.

Atria got up and left some coins on the table. It was her time to pay —Assai had paid the last time they met after work. She picked up her bag and went out deeply ashamed.

She got out of the main street at the first alley. She didn’t like to walk between a lot of people. Walking among people who were a whole head shorter than her at best made her feel uncomfortable.   
Atria was a towering woman, tall even for the Freljordian standard. She was strong, with muscled arms, broad chest and hips and tattoos all over her neck and arms. On the other side, most ionians were small and slim, compact and elegantly built. A constitution suited for their fight-style. Atria was sheer brute force. They usually wore full coverage outfits too, which was weird to her. Their climate was so mild compared to her mother land’s. 

The way to Yisus’ smithy was long if you didn’t follow the main street but she rather walk than say sorry every three steps because she accidentally hit someone who wasn’t even in her sight.  
She stopped in a fountain for a second. She wet her nape. All those sharp looks at the tea shop had left her very upset for some reason. She had to be so careful about everything. Atria had to restrict her movements to avoid hurting someone, watch her tone, hold everything lightly… She sighed deeply.

—You got this, girl —she whispered to her reflection—. You are doing great. This isn’t worse than learning to fight with uncle Gandarr…

After the encouraging words she took a sip. It was a hot, hot day. “Can’t believe they stand this heat with long sleeves”, she thought, gazing at two passing young women that were holding hands.

Atria took her eyes off them with an aching heart. She beat it until it didn’t feel that way anymore, she didn’t want to feel that way, didn’t want to go back to those memories.  
It was something she had started doing during her days in chains. It was her coping mechanism. She’d rather ignore her feelings rather than deal with them. Atria knew it wasn’t good, but she wasn’t ready to open her frozen heart.

* * *

Atria hit the blade with expertise. She struck the exact point where the steel needed straightening. A move she had done countless times. A feeling she treasured. She lifted the sword to her eyes, caressing the surface carefully, looking for more imperfections. The surface was perfectly flat, ready to receive an edge.

—Gorgeous —she muttered.

—Just like the woman holding it.

The sudden voice startled Atria. A screech escaped her mouth and the newly forged blade went flying in the air.

—Assai —she said between her teeth, reaching to her chest. Her heart was pounding.

The man was laughing his head off, bent over the counter, trying to get some air.

—Oh, you should have seen your face! —Assai cackled, banging the wood with his fist.

—It’s not funny —Atria complained. She frowned and pursed her lips at his laughter—. I could have hurt myself.

—What’s all this ruckus about? —Yisus asked, coming out of the back room. She had her glasses in her hand and she didn’t look very happy.

Yisus was the town’s best smith. She was a tall woman, according to ionian standards. She reached just below Atria’s armpit. However she might have been taller —her hair had already turned grey on the sides. Most of the days she wore it gathered up and secured with a butterfly pin. Atria loved that pin.

—Just a fool —Atria said to appease her. She picked up the blade from the floor and cleaned it with her cloth.

—Oh c’mon, Atria —Assai objected, wiping his tears. He had calmed down a bit—. Don’t be a bore.

—Sir, if you have come to disturb this lady I will have to ask you to leave —Yisus warned as she crossed her arms over her chest.

—Oh, no. It’s not that, ma’am. I just came by to pick her up from work. We had agreed to have dinner together, y’know?

Yisus looked at Atria with an arched brow. The Freljordian avoided her gaze.

—If that's the case… Atria, darling, you can leave. We don’t want more tears on our counter —the older woman stated, putting her glasses back on—. Flip the sign when you leave, alright?

—Sure —Atria smiled as she started taking her apron off—. Thank you, Yisus.

The woman gestured to her not to worry and walked back into the back room.

—So dinner, huh? —the Freljordian asked, raising an eyebrow. She picked her bag up and joined Assai on the other side of the counter.

—Sounds great, right?

—Actually it does. I’m _so_ hungry.

They went out and Atria turned the sign that hung at the door. “Closed” was now facing the street.

—Great! —Assai beamed at her.

He was dressed in nice clothes, better than usual. He smelled of recently cut wood, resin and smoke. He was a carpenter. He worked by the river building boats. His hands were always bandaged.

—I’ve never had dinner at the arena —he continued—. But I’ve heard the food is really good.

—Let’s try it then. I’m dying for a bite.

There was a moderate stream of people on the streets during the day, but at dusk they were crowded. Everyone wanted to enjoy some free time outside before heading home, so Atria and Assai walked the labyrinth of alleyways to the slums.

Fights weren’t exactly allowed, but they weren’t forbidden. They were a Noxian tradition they had brought to Ionia during the Invasion that the bloodthirsty locals had adapted to themselves. Therefore, the legal loophole around them.

The one they were visiting today was Atria’s favourite. It was the biggest in town and it offered the best fights. The atmosphere in it during the fight was totally different from the others she had visited. Only the best fought in that arena.

The square around the oval building was crowded. People piled up around the food and souvenirs stalls. While Assai waited for the food, Atria wandered to a nearby merchandising stand.

There were illustrations of the most renowned fighters and signs. The merchant had a painting of a man behind him. Atria recognised him. He had seen him around the arena. He was the owner. She had heard someone call him “beast man bastard”. It was a stupid name.

—What’cha looking at? —Assai asked, approaching her with a box under his arm.

—Nothing really. Just eyeing the product. Is that our food? Gods, give that to me immediately.

They ate sitting on the grass and enjoyed a bottle of rice liquor. It was the only ionian beverage that tasted like something to Atria. However it still wasn’t a match to freljordian ale. She had to take several bottles to start feeling something while Assai could just have one cap and be drunk for the rest of the night.

They drank until the bell that signaled they could enter the arena rang, filling the crowded square with its pealing.

—It’s time! —Atria shouted as she stood up. She just needed an excuse to distance herself from Assai, who had been leaning closer and closer to her.

—It is —Assai agreed. He looked a bit disappointed.

—Let’s get ourselves some good seats before they are all taken—she urged him, starting to walk towards the gates.

—Yes, Atria… —Assai mumbled, following the Freljordian into the crowd.


	2. Cold blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a moth to a flame. Atria and violence dance in a ball none of them can avoid.

The arena was full. They had sold every ticket and a couple more. Atria and Assai had been lucky to even get a seat. They were on the first floor, by the fence. The view of the pit was excellent. The sand on the ring was being raked. Soon it would be ready to be bled on.

—Are you sure you don't want it? —Atria asked, raising her brows. Her eyes jumped between the bottle Assai was handing her and his red cheeks.

—I think I've had enough —he mumbled. He sounded quite drunk.

—Alright —she shrugged.

She chugged down the liquor and burped loudly. Assai gave her a disgusted side look.

—Oof, that was nasty! —she added, shaking her hand before her.

Another bell rang, silencing all the conversations. The owner of the arena appeared in the box seat, together with the commentator. The first of the two men sat in the huge chair that almost took all the space in the gallery.

He was the man Atria saw in a painting a while ago. His hair was crimson and he had pointed animalesque ears. Atria had heard he had mixed-bloods, that his father was human and his mother was vastayan. She didn't know very well what a vastaya was. No one she knew wanted to tell her much about them nor had she ever seen one.

The so-called beast-man wore his torso out and about, he only wore a coat with a lot of fur on the back. _Can it be considered a coat if it doesn't have sleeves?_ ,Atria wondered. Her eyes were locked on his biceps. He was the first Ionian she had seen that didn't wear full-coverage clothes. And in this case she didn't mind it at all.

The fights were intense. The fighters gave an incredible show. The crowd yelled and booed , deeply involved in the development of the battle. The drinks seemed to never end. Even Atria was starting to feel a little hot and cheerful. Her feet were surrounded by many, many bottles.

The bell rang for the last fight and the crowd boomed with anger, booing intensely.

—Another one! It was too fast! —Assai yelled heatedly beside Atria.

The last man standing looked at the owner of the arena, gesturing at him. Atria saw the red-head smirk and smack the ass of the woman who was sitting on his lap before getting up. He was massive.

The owner opened his arms and the crowd howled again, demanding entertainment. He put his hand near his ear and made a funny face as he shook his head. The crowd bellowed even louder than before. Atria had to cover her ears. Assai was hitting the fence angrily.

The man in the gallery opened his arms again and smirked at the gladiator, who hit his spear against his shield.

—Who wants to fight me! —he screamed, gazing aggressively at the audience.

Atria saw men get up and gesture at him, trying to get the gladiator’s attention. She was slow to notice Assai was pointing at her and the warrior was looking at them, directly. Her blood froze.

She had already been pit meat. She bore the scars to prove it. Atria had swore to herself she wouldn't fight again —there was too much blood in her hands already. However, violence and her were a moth and a flame, they couldn’t be apart. She seemed to attract it. At that moment, when the gladiator pointed at her and gestured for her to come down, she was afraid.

Her eyes analized the ring. There were no weapons to pick up, only the blood of the fallen. _The ice_ , she thought, closing her fists. _No, I won’t need ice. I don't need to kill. It’s a friendly fight, right?_ Atria took her jewellery off and handed it to Assai. She dedicated him a death stare before jumping into the pit.

The crowd thundered. The gladiator adopted a fighting stance, which Atria mimicked. She breathed in and out, slowly, calming her nerves. She felt rusty, but she had seen this man fight. It was more than certain she could kick his ass. Atria made eye contact with her rival and smirked. The Winter’s Claw in her was stirring of sheer joy.

She made a move to the side, but dashed forward, surprising the gladiator. She went straight to his short spear. Atria grabbed her rival's arm and rolled it around her. She was now surrounded by him and, at the same time, he couldn't move for the split second she needed. She leaned forward abruptly, pulling his arm forward in the same motion. The man flew over her head and fell on his back heavily with a nasty crack. His right arm, the one Atria had grabbed, was bent in an unnatural way. The spear laid now in the bloodied sand, waiting for her.

The crowd was howling. Atria held the spear and opened her arms to the crowd. They went crazy, clapping and hitting the floor with their feet. _Was I missing this or I’m only looking for validation?_ , she wondered as she turned to the owner. His cheek rested on his hand. There was a smirk on his face. He shrugged.

Atria faced her opponent again. He had stood up and tried to hold his arm in place. It looked very bad but she knew it was just dislocated. _Nothing too bad. Only your reward for thinking you could beat me_.

The gladiator charged at her and Atria dodged, light as a feather. The crowd cheered. She laughed and hit him cheekily on his bald head with the bottom of the spear. The man rampaged at her again. She, once more, dodged with a flourish and gracefully buried the point of the spear on the back of his knee

—You dirty bitch! —the gladiator lashed at her from the floor.

Atria walked closer to him and put her head at his level, looking him straight in the eye.

—You just made a bad choice, sweetie —she mocked him before licking the sweat and blood off his cheek.

Her gaze fell upon a mark on his neck when she straightened. The world stopped. The crowd fell silent in her ears. In that moment it was only her and the mark. She had seen it before. Her blood froze again, but it boiled just a second after.

—Noxus… —she spat in his face— You took everything from me. Let me feast on your screams now…

Atria lifted the man from the floor with one hand. He was quite light for a noxian, but it didn’t matter to her. She wanted him to suffer what she had suffered and she would let everyone in that arena see him squirm.

—This man is a Noxian! —she screamed to the crowd. Then turned around to face the box seat— He will pay for what they did to me! To my people!

The owner of the arena was standing up. His face was blank, she couldn’t see his eyes but he seemed to have grown in size.

—Valhir, Volibear, god of mighty thunder —she spoke. The audience was now quiet. All the eyes were on her.

—I offer thee the screams of this man, my Lord! —she threw the man on the floor with rage and straddled him— Thou shalt perish…

She created an ice dagger and buried it in the gladiator’s chest. From the first moment she felt the ice freeze the man’s life away. He wasn’t worthy of it.

The screams filled the silent arena. Inhuman screams, horrid, apparently unending. That’s what the true ice did to those unworthy of bearing it. It gave them the most painful of the deaths. The ice was cruel, as life was in the Freljord.

When the screams ceased, the man was covered in a fine layer of frost. His face twisted in the most horrific way. His body had shrunk, dehydrated after the ice had sucked all the water out of it. His eyes had popped out from the pressure and the orbs had fallen out. _A painful death to repay what you did to me_.

Atria stared at the man, rejoicing in his suffering face for a second before melting the ice. She didn’t want to kill the people who worked at the arena by accident. That death had been enough.

She was so absorbed by her grotesque work she didn’t hear the steps approaching her. Only when strong calloused hands grabbed her by the arms she snapped out of her trance. She didn’t fight. She let them drag her out of the pit. Tears rolled down her cheeks, burning her skin.

—Danae… —she whispered before sinking into darkness.


	3. Bussiness with the beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀Here comes ya boye👀

—Lay her there —Sett asked.

—She fainted —informed one of the men. —I know. I saw it. Was someone with her?

—I think there was a guy in the corridor.

—Have him come in.

—Sure, Boss.

His man brought in a nicely dressed man. Black hair and delicate features. _Pure ionian_ , Sett thought. The guest bowed deeply.

—My deepest apologies —he said. Sett sucked his teeth and scoffed. —Yeah, right… Is she your wife?

—No, sir. She’s a dear friend.

He was curious about how a northerner had landed herself with a guy like that. However, he didn’t go deeper into it.

—She could have made us lose a lot of money, y’know? —he teased, holding the woman’s face in his hand.

He had never seen a woman like her. She had intricate tattoos all over her arms that crawled up her neck and into the hairline. She had shaved the sides of her hair to show the ink off. It was thick and dark, full of red sand from the arena.

—Yes, sir. I’m so sorry she caused so much trouble —he bowed again—. We drank. She just lost control.

Sett took his time to answer. He had never been in danger of losing money. All the bets had been against her, while his was on her favour. From the moment she set foot on the pit, he knew she wasn’t new in this. Pit meat knew pit meat.

She had defeated one of his best fighters. She deserved some credit. _He never stood a chance, he thought_ , walking to his desk.

Sett took out the safe box and opened it. I was bursting. That night had been one of the best they had had in a very long time. He started counting coins and putting them in a bag.

—What’s your name? —he asked, faking indifference. The man squirmed like a worm at the sound of his voice. He reeked of fear.

—Assai, sir.

—Aight, Assai —Sett mumbled as he closed the bag, now full with gold—. I want you to take that beast out of my arena, ‘kay?

—Y-y-yes, sir… But, uhm… I-I can’t carry her alone. She’s... Y’know…

She was huge. Certainly taller than any common Ionian. Sett had heard about the frozen lands and their people but it never occurred to him that even women were that big.

—I can have someone take her to your place or hers. I don't care. I want her out.

—Yes. I'd really appreciate the help, my good sir. Your kindness seems never ending.

—Yeah… Whatever —Sett scoffed, rolling his eyes.

He put the bag back in the safe box and crossed the room. He opened the door and had one of his men come in.

—Take this woman and carry her to wherever this man tells you, 'kay?

—Yes, Boss.

—Good. Off with you.

—Thank you again, sir.

—Tell her to come by tomorrow, y' hear me? Gotta talk to her.

—Of course, sir. Thank you for your kindness.

—Whatever… —Sett sighed, making a gesture to shoo him away. The door closed heavily and he stretched in his chair. _I should go home. Ma must be waiting for me_.

* * *

The screams kept him up all night. He couldn't take them out of his mind. The parched skin, the eyes hanging on both sides of the twisted face. Sett sighed and pushed the covers aside. He had never seen a man scream like that and he had made _many_ men scream.

I had never heard such a silence in a crowded room, he thought with a shudder, remembering the frozen crowd. All their faces twisted in horror.

He washed his face. The cold water always seemed to clear his head, but not this time. The words that woman had said the previous night rumbled in his head.

Sett didn't even understand what she yelled in the pit. She had spoken another language. However, he had understood the rage, the contempt. He had spoken that language many times.

Sett brushed his hair and his fur before getting dressed with the simple clothes his mother bought for him. He growled when he saw the mess of hair on the floor.

—Shed season again… —he grumbled, annoyed. The end of spring was a pain in the ass— Give me a fucking break.

He kicked the hairs and left the room. The house was still silent, just like the street outside. He still had some time before his mother woke up.

Sett went out the back door with the basket. The chickens were all agitated.

—What's all the fuss about, girls? —he said as he bent to go through the door of the pen— That mean cat came back? You are more than him. You can peck him to death if you wanted, y'know? S

ett picked up the eggs and let the chicken out. Then he filled their plate with grain and oats, their favourite.

—Aight, have a nice day, gals! —he closed the door behind him and left the basket in the kitchen.

He lit the oven and left it to get warm. After that, he checked the kettle. There was water in it the night before.

—Empty —he growled.

Sett went to the pantry and picked up the pails and the bag with the milk bottles. His mother had left it ready for him. He smiled. People were starting to leave their houses when Sett left his home. All headed to the market. His neighbour was just walking out the door.

—Mornin' —Sett greeted. She was putting glamour on her children.

—Oh, good morning, Sett —she smiled before turning to her kids—. Say hello, boys.

—Good morning, sir! —they said with one voice.

—One day I'm going to be as big and strong as you! —one of them said, flexing his skinny arms.

—You have to go to school first —his mother said, smiling warmly—. You have a good day, Sett. Come on you lot.

—See ya, Ma'am.

The market was already crawling with people when Sett got there. The sun was about to come out from behind the mountains.

He approached his usual milk stand and filled his bag. He stopped at the well and filled the buckets on the way home.

Sett left the milk in the pantry and brought two bottles with him to the kitchen. He poured water into the kettle and added another log to the oven.

The stairs creaked painfully when he walked upstairs. He leaned to go into his mother's bedroom. She was reading a book.

—Hey, big boy —she smiled.

—Mornin', Ma —he answered, kneeling beside the bed.

His mother closed the book and rubbed her forehead against her son's. She had done that every morning he woke her up since Sett could remember. Never one day without it.

—Do you work today? —she asked, scratching behind his ear with her claw.

Sett's eyes closed in delight. They had something that made him relax instantly. He couldn't help it.

—Not today, but I won't be home —he purred—. I'll be here for dinner though.

His mother nodded lightly, expressing her reserved agreement.

—I got some milk at the market and brought water. We had run out. Oh, I also fed them chickens. The cat paid them a visit again.

—That's a good boy. Now, go make breakfast. I'll be there in a minute.

* * *

—Boss, there's this woman outside —announced one of his men after knocking on the door.

—Bring her —he ordered before turning back to the woman in his lap—. You gotta go, hun.

She scoffed and got up. There was this cheeky smile on her face.

—Don't forget about _our_ business. Y’hear me? —she said, caressing his chest before walking away.

Sett looked at her go, rejoicing in her silhouette and biting his lip. The feathers covering her arms disappeared right before opening the door.

Sett fastened his belt and got up. The armchair was very comfortable but the woman about to walk in was serious business. He had to do it right.

He opened the window and took a deep breath. The air smelled of waste and fried food. He made a disgusted face and closed the window right away. _Why do I keep doing that? This place smells like pure shit_.

The door of the office opened and the woman walked in. She wore a short, plain and very mended tunic that she adjusted at the waist with a broad belt. From it hung a bag and knife. Knee-high boots protected her legs. She had iron rings in her hands and in the braids of her hair.

Only now, upon a closer look, Sett saw the scars all over her skin. Many sections of her arm tattoos were sectioned by scars and her legs also showed the bites of the steel. He also noticed her eyes were the same shade of blue like his mother’s favourite flowers: the hydrangeas.

She walked up to the desk arrogantly and leaned on it. Her lips were parted by an old scar through them and her nose was a bit crooked.

—You called? —she spat, sinking her eyes into his.

—I have an offer for you —he replied slowly, bringing himself closer to the table.

For some reason, her arrogance had aroused him. But that was something he didn’t want to share with her just now. There was business on the table.

—I’m not fighting for you —she growled angrily.

—Alright…

—Then our business is done —she grumbled before turning to leave.

—A little bird told me you are a smith —Sett said casually as he leaned back in his chair, admiring her shape from the back. She froze in place —. An excellent one for instance. He saw her fists close and her knuckles turn white, but she didn’t say a word.

—You see… Here at the arena we use a lot of armor and weapons and it just happens that our smith passed away recently. That good ol’ man… —she turned her head a little bit—. I’ve also heard that your pay is quite… miserable. Certainly not enough to pay for the fare to your homeland…

Sett saw her eyes burn for an instant. The next thing he saw was her face dangerously close to his. Her hands gripped the lapels of his coat. So fast and filled with rage he had trouble following her. Her stare was sharp enough to cut the milk he had bought that morning. His hair stood up, excited.

—You miserable piece of shit! —she barked. Her face was the perfect depiction of fierce— Who told you? I swear upon the ice that flows through my veins I’ll kill the bastard!

—My, my —Sett chuckled, covering her hands with his. They were ice cold—. It was none other than your loyal friend Assai, Atria Coldheart. He’s very talkative, y’know?

Her pupils expanded for a second before they sunk back into little spots in a sea of blue and green. She let go of his coat and rubbed her forehead, visibly confused. Sett wished she hadn’t let go, that danger about her made his blood pump.

—I’ll beat him to pulp! —she lashed out, kicking one of the chairs—. The fucking moron…

Sett chuckled and reached down to the drawers of the desk while she let off some steam. The sack of coins made everything on the table rattle when he dropped it. Atria looked at the bag and gulped.

—This is your share of last night’s fight. It’s yours. You earned it. You could buy a decent house with it, if you wanted —Sett explained, patting the black velvet.

Atria stared at it for long before sighing and looking at her feet. She snorted before talking.

—I don’t want to stop working at the baker’s. I love that job —she admitted shily. Sett's smile grew bigger.

—No problem. Just do whatever you want as long as you keep our arsenal in perfect condition. Deal?

She hesitated before shaking his hand. Her grip was strong and steady.

—Deal.

—Good —he smiled, pleased—. Let’s show you your new workspace, yes?


End file.
